Memories of The Moon

A Man walked on the surface of the moon more than forty years ago.

Mooncake making has been in the process for thousands of years in East Asia. Obviously various communities and nations across Earth have been fascinated by this satelite, ever appearing to light up the night sky and missed when there is heavy and thick cloud cover.

I cherish and relish the sight of the the full round moon, with warts and all, hanging so close above the horizon, like one year memorably over Eastwood in Sydney's north-west. The clarity of the sky was superseded by the sharpness of features of the still inhabitable Moon. Other planets may have several moons, but we have only one special one.

Another fond memory is that of the moon looking down on Earth over a sheep grazing farm in South Island, New Zealand - this was surrounded by a plethora of visible stars - and that over Koh Samui, with all the heaviness of the balmy equatorial air and the soothing lightness of the sounds of gentle waves in the Gulf of Thailand.

Lanterns at the Jurong Gardens in Singapore, red, pink and orange, were the highlights of a September or October evening after a hard earned day's work in Singapore. The lantern lights were reflected over the still and calm waters of a man made lake, remniscent of Suzhou in central China but really, this was on a tropical island in South-east Asia.

The increasing price of mooncakes and its affliate pastries in Sydney's Asian suburbs have been both a disturbing and fascinating reflection of the economics of products made only once a year. Mum tells me that the prices even back in my hometown of Penang have taken a steep rise this year.

The combination of sweet bean paste and emulsified egg yolks in mooncakes may not go down well with the office audience in the Illawarra, but I love the five nuts package, with bits of healthy crunchy stuff like breakfast cereal, except that they are then coated with other stuff. The spread of more challenging varieties like yam and durian are only the stuff of my dreams here but I did spot them in boxes in some shops in Sydney suburbs.

This year there was no moon to be seen on the fifteenth night of the eighth moon, only passing showers and an overcast sky. Not that the heavenly creation was not there.

I recall migrating to Australia just when the Mooncake festivities were getting on. This had made it harder to leave my hometown. many years later, the festivities symbolise a comfort zone and also of leaving behind to face a new dimension. It makes the festival even more special. I have not walked on the Moon, but I may have tried.

Mid-Spring

The mulberry plant was nearly uprooted and a new nursery plant had half its branches and leaves snapped from gusty winds on the last Sunday of September 2009. I had got off relatively light, there were roofs blown off in nearby suburbs.

The air plunged into obvious cold temperatures after a rather warm day on the following day,September 28. Daylight savings was to begin on the first Sunday of October, when 2am became 3am. The sun had already risen by 530am, and this made me even easier to get to work early. Apart from the red dust storms of Wednesday dawn on 23 September 2009, sunlight was already intense by breakfast time.



Malaysian nasi lemak, Aussie cupcakes, Shanghai crispy chicken and Chinese dessert of white fungus with paw paw slices were the order of the day on the last weekend of September. Not being able to go away from the Sydney or Wollongong areas as planned that day, I plunged into a series of other appointments that were punctuated by hanging around in shopping centres, an unexpected friendly encounter and another late night coming home. The multi-coloured solar powered garden lights - alternating blue, green and pink - outside my home are a current welcome sight after having to drive so many kilometres to return. The three colours reflect my Aussie residency, Straits Chinese influences and Chinese roots.

I could not resist getting a pot of hardy ferns and a budding young muscat grape plant to add to my home garden. They are just a low bunch of green leaves now but promise to be more. Apparently this has been the hottest September on my side of the woods in 150 years.

Sweet September, Not Too Long Ago

September, and I have memories of misty nights on top of a hill. How it seemed to be only yesterday, and how clearly I can still see it now. My mates and I had budding ambitions, growing urges and a convulating sense of togetherness. For a few nights we relished this escape from the routine and the usual. More than that, each of us could look out into the bright lights - and expanse - of our otherwise ordinary lives back there below the lookout point. Was that first week of September a momentary escapade, or an opportunity of a pause between what we were leaving behind - early adolescence - and what we had to build ourselves - future adulthood?

The bungalow offered lazy afternoons and group nights, where we could gather to offer our inner thoughts, make fun of each other and unknowlingly get to know each other better. The cooler air induced us into a kind of comfort zone that we longed for in contrast to where we first met - the humid heat of classrooms in regimented schedules. We dabbled in discovering and experiencing then forbidden areas - which with the benefit of hindsight now, were passing phases possibly necesary to our individual development. The fireplace, the foreboding darkness outside the colonial styled windows and the wavering of leafy branches threatened with moving fog - it all added to a certain comforting charm, a dramatic backdrop and a unique perspective to our apparent liberation to talk about anything, to do without constraint and to realise that things were not forever.

I recall the sight of the twinkling stars above the dark night sky, and how we were all decked out in sweaters seated on the patio looking out literally at the world waiting before us. What magical evenings they were. They then added to our resolve to build a unique life in each of us. They now offer a refuge to inspiring memory.